The Supreme Astronomers had instructed him how to plan his time: when to make an effort, and when to rest, so that he would survive the desert. While he was in the Land Without Shadow, he had to start walking at sunset. ‘To wrap myself in my cloak and walk. To make progress at night and in the early hours of the morning, because as soon as the sun rose in the sky I had to set up my tent in the meagre shade of the thorn bushes, drink my water, and get some sleep. Sleep and then wake at the red sunset, bathe in the sea, and then go on with my journey.’
Often at night a sandstorm arose, stinging his body. Then there was no chance of going on. His eyes tight shut, his mouth set in a taut line while he sheltered under his cloak waiting for the wind to drop, his mind went back to the smell of that tortilla he had eaten when he left Beleram. The wind took a long time to drop, but gradually the grains hurt less; the sand returned to the sand. It was only then that he could set off again.
‘The Land Without Shadow is a strange place! The sea and the desert meet at the coast, but there is no telling which of them is dying and which is doing the killing!’
Then one dawn, a day before his belt had a hundred and forty knots on it, he reached the Marshy River. The traveller knew that once he had crossed it he would be entering the Ends of the Earth, the lands where the Husihuilkes lived. The air here was different, and the first few clumps of vegetation started to appear.
In order to cross the Marshy River he had to leave the coastline, because the river estuary was one huge swamp. If he did not do so, he would be bound to sink in the mud. His map showed he should head inland. And even though this held its risks as well, they were not as deadly or as unavoidable as the ones he faced in the swamp. Leaving the coast meant he might be spotted by the Pastors of the Desert, who often came down to the estuary for their flocks to drink and graze. They also crossed the river to trade. Their llamels were greatly sought after in Husihuilke villages, and the Pastors exchanged them for four, medicinal herbs, and other things they could not obtain in their oases. This meant there was a greater chance the traveller would be discovered, as he had to use the same bridge as they did.
He had just set out across the river when the eagle started to circle round his head, screeching loudly. What was it trying to tell him? He could not be going the wrong way this time. The river was the river. The bridge was the bridge, and only offered two possibilities: to the south lay his final destination, to the north was the way back. ‘My friend, you can’t want me to return to the desert, can you?’ He peered in the direction of the eagle’s flapping wings, and soon understood why the bird was making such a fuss. A big flock of llamels was heading for the river. He could only make out the nearest animals; the rest of the flock was an indistinct blur. But where there are llamels, there are Pastors. And since there were no bushes near by, let alone trees he could hide behind, the man decided he had to get as far away from them as he could. He walked on as fast as his stumpy legs would allow.
So as not to think about how tired he was, he started to think about the llamels. He soon found himself wondering what those enormous red-haired beasts would do in the jungles of the Remote Realm. How could they possibly get through the undergrowth with their splayed feet and heavy bodies? They could not climb or fly; nor could they make themselves thin the way jaguars did, or crawl like snakes. He imagined them hopelessly stuck, longing to be roaming again through their vast deserts. At that point he suddenly realized that he too was stuck, longing for his home. ‘What about you, Zitzahay? Isn’t the jungle your home, and despite that, haven’t you just crossed the desert?’
Yes, he had crossed that vast expanse safely! As he took his first step beyond the bridge, he looked up to find the eagle. He wanted to ask her to laugh with him, but she was nowhere to be seen. Eventually he felt so happy he laughed on his own.
Behind him lay the empty wastes, the Marshy River, and the flocks of llamels. The forest was close at hand, and with it came the promise of an easier journey.
He walked on. He soon realized that the eagle had not followed him, but was not concerned: he had learnt by now that it was the bird’s habit to disappear. When he reached the first well-defined shadows he looked for her again. He stared so hard into the sky that he confused her with other birds. And because he was looking up so much, he stumbled over everything he met in his way. He called out ‘Eagle’ softly, because he could not shout. ‘My friend,’ he said. He looked and looked, until finally he realized the eagle had stayed in the desert. ‘And there I was, thinking only of the llamels!’ Despite the welcoming forest, he could not forget her. ‘And as you can see, I still haven’t,’ he told his listeners.
Nothing was sent to replace the bird to help him on his way. At least, he was not aware of anything. Although he would have liked to have someone to talk to, the fact was that once he had crossed the river, the journey became so easy that he had no need of help. The path he had been told to follow kept him well away from the villages of the southern warriors. Added to that, his hearing, his sense of smell and his ability to walk silently kept him safe. ‘I have no idea if the stars were on my side too!’
In order to avoid the Husihuilke villages he had to take a winding path full of detours. He often had to double back, and yet he never got lost. The landmarks he had to follow were unmistakable: quite the opposite to the Land Without Shadow. There all he could see were the Maduinas Mountains in the east, the Lalafke to the west, and sand all around him. In these forests at the Ends of the Earth, a waterfall or pool never failed to point him in the right direction. Impossible to get lost somewhere where everything seemed to be a signpost for the way he should take. Rivers flowing west, a huge cypress wood charred by fire from a lightning strike, twin lakes, springs, lava flows, caves ... ‘The landscape was such a good guide that I walked along singing to myself, as I did in my own land,’ he told people in later days.
5
TWO VISITORS
‘Why are you scratching your legs like that?’ Kume asked his brother and sister.
Thinking they had successfully disguised the persistent itch and pain the ant bites had caused them, the pair looked at each other, not knowing what to reply. They did not dare tell the truth, but neither of them had the courage to invent an excuse either. So they carried on walking, without acknowledging they had even heard their brother’s question. Kume shrugged his shoulders and forgot about it.
If it had been Thungür or Kuy-Kuyen who had seen them scratching in this way, either would have pestered them until they gave an answer. Kume, though, was naturally taciturn. He spent many hours on his own, observing the world from his solitary lair with a mixture of melancholy and hostility. It was not surprising therefore that he left them alone without repeating his question. Now he soon fell into one of those self-absorbed moods they all knew so well, but did nothing to try to change. He walked in silence a little way back from the others until they reached home.
‘Here we are at last!’ exclaimed Old Mother Kush. ‘Take off your cloaks and sit by the fire. I’ll make some mint tea with honey to ward off the cold.’
Dulkancellin was hanging up his cloak when he saw the carved wooden chest that appeared together with the rain and disappeared as soon as the sun shone again. He smiled to himself, and shouted to Kush, who was busy with the fire:
‘What will you choose from your chest this time?’
‘Who knows?’ his mother replied.
‘I hope it’s Shampalwe’s comb,’ said Kuy-Kuyen. ‘Then you can tell us again what her wedding was like.’
‘No,’ Thungür objected, warming his hands at the fire. ‘I’d like it better if you took out the red rock from the volcano and told us about the day the earth opened and the lakes were bubbling with heat.’
‘All I can promise is that I will tell you a story.’
Every Husihuilke family kept a chest that was passed down through the generations. Even though it was less than two hands high, and could be carried by a young child, in it were keepsakes o
f everything important that had happened to the family throughout time. When the nights for story-telling arrived, the chest was turned over four times: first forwards, then backwards, and finally to each of its two sides. Afterwards, the oldest member of the family would plunge a hand into the chest and pull out the first thing it touched, without hesitating or choosing. That object was a token of the story that would be told that year. Sometimes this referred to events none of them had witnessed, because they had happened many years before. Yet the story-teller talked of them as surely as if they had indeed been there. In this way too the tales became rooted in the minds of those who would have to tell them again years later.
The Husihuilkes said it was the Great Wisdom that guided the hand of the oldest member of the family so that their voice would recover from memory all that had to be remembered. Some of the stories were repeated tirelessly. Some were told only once in the course of a generation; others perhaps would never be recounted.
‘I wonder about the old stories that have always remained in the chest,’ said Thungür. ‘If no one has told them, no one has heard them. And if no one has heard them ...’
‘ ... No one remembers them,’ said Kush, coming over with her bowl of herb tea. ‘You always say the same thing, and I always give you the same answer. When something really important happens, many pairs of eyes are witness to it. And many tongues will say what they have seen. Just remember, old stories which are not told around one fire will be told at another one. And the memories one family forgets will still live on in other homes.’
Kush dragged over a hide rug to sit by the fire.
For a moment, none of them spoke. Then Dulkancellin said:
‘Thungür is concerned about the stories in the chest. I’m worried about Kupuka . . .’
Wilkilén and Piukemán jumped when they heard the Wizard’s name.
‘I wonder why he didn’t come to join us,’ Dulkancellin went on. ‘What could be more important than our meeting in the Valley?’
‘A lot of things have been happening,’ said Kush, finally deciding to share her disquiet. ‘Too many not to notice. The lukus’ strange behaviour, the drums in the forest, the oriole’s feather, and Kupuka’s absence are all threads from the same weave.’
Dulkancellin looked round at his five children. The memory of the previous night’s dream flashed through his mind. Old Mother Kush, I know of another thread for your loom, he thought.
A longer silence left each of them to their own thoughts. Kuy-Kuyen was thinking of her mother; Thungür of the message from the golden oriole. Kume was thinking about Kume. Dulkancellin’s mind was on the Husihuilkes, while Kush was remembering her family’s earliest ancestors. Piukemán could not forget Kupuka, and Wilkilén was asleep . . . until there was a loud, sharp knock at the door.
‘That’s Kupuka,’ said Kush in astonishment.
‘It’s Kupuka,’ the others whispered. His way of knocking was unmistakable.
Dulkancellin strode across the room. Lifting the bar from the door, he let the Earth Wizard in. All the family had risen to their feet to welcome him. All except Wilkilén. She was so sure Kupuka had come to scold them for crossing the Owl Gateway that she hid behind a pile of cloaks. None of the others saw her, so she lay there, curled up in her fear.
Kupuka set aside his bag and his staff. He was obviously very tired, with an age-old weariness that made his slanted eyes seem even narrower than usual.
‘Greetings to you, brother Dulkancellin,’ said Kupuka, following the Husihuilkes’ traditional words of welcome. ‘And I ask your leave to stay here, in your lands.’
‘Greetings to you, brother Kupuka. I give you my permission. We are happy to see you well. We thank the path that brought you here.’
‘Wisdom and strength be with you all.’
‘May the same be with you, and more.’
The best rug had been brought out for the Wizard to sit on. Kush got up to bring him some corn bread, but when he saw what she was doing, Kupuka stopped her.
‘Come back, Old Mother Kush! I will gladly have a slice of your bread, but in a little while.’ He turned to Dulkancellin. ‘Before anything else, I have to tell you that your life is about to change as the colour of the air changes from day to night. I trust that the signs which went before me have succeeded in preparing you and your family for this.’
‘Yes, there have been signs,’ replied Dulkancellin. ‘But they were as unclear as your words are now.’
The tone of her son’s reply made Kush think that it was time for her and her grandchildren to leave and go to the room where they all slept. She stood up cautiously; but once again, Kupuka halted her.
‘I bring news that concerns you all. It’s important for you to stay and hear it. If Dulkancellin agrees, of course.’
The warrior nodded, so Old Mother Kush sat down again without a word.
‘Good,’ said Dulkancellin, ‘let’s hear the news you bring.’
Taking a dark root out of a small bag hanging from his waist, the Earth Wizard chewed on it for a while. Tied back with a thong, his long white locks left his thin face uncovered. His face was a mass of contradictions. Deep wrinkles were a sign of the many years he had lived, and yet in his eyes shone the same proud gleam as that of the young warriors when they entered the field of battle.
‘A man is walking through the forest towards this house. He is already very close. He is a Zitzahay, and has been sent by his people as both messenger and guide.’
Dulkancellin raised his hand a little, asking to speak.
‘Wait a moment, Dulkancellin,’ said the Earth Wizard, trying to calm the warrior’s anxiety. ‘Everything I know is hazy and vague. I have many doubts and little clarity about what I am going to say. It will save time if you let me speak without interrupting. Afterwards you can ask me whatever you like, although, believe me, I will not have many answers. Possibly the messenger who is about to arrive will be able to respond more adequately than I can.’
Dulkancellin seemed to acquiesce. He sat elbows on knees to listen to what the Earth Wizard had to say. Everyone else gazed at Kupuka expectantly. Behind her pile of cloaks, Wilkilén was trying to work out whether what she had heard was related to the Owl Gateway.
‘The Brotherhood of the Open Air is experiencing days of great turmoil. They are trying to complete a difficult task in time and without making any mistakes. A very hard task, and one that is to some extent impenetrable even to those of us who are helping to carry it out. Everything began when the Brotherhood decided it was imperative to send out some news. It seems that at the same time, they decided this news was not to be spread to the four winds. The Supreme Astronomers advised that it should not be announced publicly, but be treated as a secret. That it should be passed on surreptitiously so that it would only reach the recommended ears.’ At this, the Earth Wizard peered round at each of them in turn before he went on. ‘I mean that a piece of enormously important news had to reach all parts of the Fertile Lands without any attention being drawn to it. And in addition, with hardly any time to do so. Did I already say that? Well, I am telling you now: we have no time to spare. An important message, but it must remain concealed. Unusual activity on all the roads: but no one must notice! That is a hard thing to achieve, even for Magic. I know that a complex network was created in Beleram, the city of the Supreme Astronomers, and that it spread from there like the points of a star. I also know that fortunately all the messengers have reached their destination. All of them apart from the one coming here. Our messenger left Beleram before the others, but he had a long road to travel. Something must have held him up ... Who knows? We will soon learn the reason for his delay, because he is almost here with us.’
Like the vast majority of Husihuilkes, neither Dulkancellin nor anyone else in his family had ever seen a Zitzahay. What they knew about them and the Remote Realm came from stories or songs. The idea that soon one of them would be there, stretching his hands out to the fire, made their hearts beat faster and left
them speechless. A Zitzahay was arriving on the very same day that the rains from the north of the Fertile Lands were about to start. Why had he made such a long journey? And on whose behalf? Kupuka had spoken of ‘recommended ears’. Were they the ones who were supposed to hear the message? Kupuka talked of the Supreme Astronomers. The Astronomers were so far away! They were nothing more than an ordinary Husihuilke family with their corn bread and fire. Even Dulkancellin preferred not to say anything, but to listen to what the Earth Wizard could explain to them.
‘The Astronomers gave a command, and immediately all the resources of Magic were set in motion to carry it out.’ Silence and consternation greeted Kupuka’s words. ‘This task brings with it many risks. A piece of news had to secretly speed along the difficult roads of the Fertile Lands until it reached those chosen to hear it. Only them, and no one else. The news could easily have become distorted on its journey, intentionally or otherwise. The secret could come out either through carelessness or by design. The messengers could lose their way or be intercepted. As soon as great events appear on the horizon, errors and betrayal can spring up anywhere.’ At this, the Earth Wizard started to chew once again on the root he was holding. The sweet juice he sucked from it gave him obvious pleasure.
‘Well then?’ said Dulkancellin, who was starting to grow impatient.
‘Well,’ Kupuka continued, ‘in order to protect the mission, precaution after precaution was taken. The news was sent in two different ways. Human messengers set out on land, while other emissaries took routes unknown to man. The hawks sought me out. They took me to meet them on the other side of the Owl Gateway. On the day of the celebration in the Valley, I came down from the mountain and walked there. Beyond the gate it is possible to clearly understand the language of the animals. Woe betide anyone entering the forbidden place to see and hear what is not meant to be revealed!’
The Days of the Deer Page 4
